


Unrestrainable

by fencer_x



Category: Sekai-ichi Hatsukoi
Genre: M/M, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-21
Updated: 2018-01-21
Packaged: 2019-03-07 15:30:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13437771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fencer_x/pseuds/fencer_x
Summary: Sequel to pinkadot's"Uncontainable", which was a "what-if" take focusing on what could have happened after Takano bandaged Ritsu's knee in volume 4/episode 12.





	Unrestrainable

That Masamune managed to make it past Onodera's genkan, into the blessedly empty outer hall, and through his own still-unlocked door into his genkan before nearly sinking to his knees with his fingers, shaking, curled around his cock, was a testament to his own strength of will and self-restraint.

He braced one hand flat against the wall and prayed that his legs wouldn't buckle beneath him as he hastily yanked his zip down and shoved his free hand back under his hem, stifling a beleaguered groan by biting his lower lip almost to the point of drawing blood. His cock felt like it was on fire, feverish against his palm and engorged with blood and passion and so in want of release it was almost painful.

The tiny part of his mind not blinded with lust and urgency reflected that this really wasn't fair; why was he forced to slink off into the night to take care of himself by his own hand when Onodera had enjoyed the pleasures of both his mouth and fingers this evening? Why didn't Onodera truly rebuff him, tell him to fuck off? Why did he get Masamune so worked up that he all but _expected_ something in return, if he wasn't going to actually follow through?

Nevermind that Masamune had hardly been playing fair himself with that stunt just now—which really wasn't like him at all. Thrilling as it had been on some level, it was a stupid risk when the stakes included a valuable client who would be horrified at their unprofessional behavior. And it wasn't fair to put Onodera under such duress when he was clearly trying his best.

But then—Masamune had always been weak to that aspect of Onodera's personality: He'd never been able to entirely stamp out the small, ugly part of himself that looked upon Ritsu's genuine efforts with contempt and a wish to destroy them, whether it be by words as in the past or actions as now. It wasn't something Masamune was proud of, but it was nevertheless a part of him, and he wondered not for the first time how Ritsu had ever been able to look past that in him and still claim to love him. How Onodera would ever be able to look past these more recent indiscretions to eventually admit to the same.

He frowned, jerking his hand out of his pants and clenching his fist, feeling the nervous energy shaking through him. This was pathetic—working himself off in the genkan and harboring these dark thoughts. He was tired, he was horny, and he had Onodera's essence caking on his fingers, could still feel the warm, solid heaviness of his cock, so alike and yet so different from his own, could feel the smooth slip of sweat and semen smoothing the channel his fingers and palm formed around him. It felt better than getting himself off, he would hazard: if only for the sounds that Onodera made, the rough, choked whimpers and _please, please_ that no amount of protests would ever convince him meant anything other than _please don't stop, please_.

He closed his eyes and shuffled, blind, into his bathroom, stripping off his shirt and pants and tossing them haphazardly into a pile in the corner to worry about later. He needed to do laundry, he remembered in the back of his mind—his place was starting to look as bad as the glimpse he'd gotten of Onodera's—but his body continued its robotic motions to finish removing his clothing, reaching now for the tap to turn on the spray.

His apartment was freezing, and he turned the water up as hot as he could possibly stand, stepping into the pelting spray and tilting his head back, slowing his breathing and ignoring his cock jutting out stiff and in desperate want of the attention he'd deprived it. The damned thing could wait five more minutes.

Why did Onodera have to go and do this to him? He was a man too—did he really not realize how it was practically _torture_ being kept waiting like this? Not for any physical response so much as—he just…needed _something_ in return for all his confessions of love. A smile, a nod, an instance of contact where he _didn't_ brush Masamune away with revulsion. He wasn't too terribly picky, honestly: he just wanted to know…that there was some light at the end of this long, dark tunnel.

He reached for the product and started lathering up his hair, breathing in the soap-scented steam and clearing his thoughts.

He knew he wasn't exactly going about this in the most tactful manner. Onodera—Ritsu—had never been the type to really respond with anything short of flustered squawking whenever Masamune had shown affection in the past, so it was little surprise he hadn't much changed, despite the ten years between them.

Stepping under the stream fully, he closed his eyes and let the water wash the suds away.

Onodera was a grown man now, though. He wasn't some wide-eyed blushing first-year anymore, and he certainly wasn't ignorant of Masamune's feelings for him, surely. Perhaps he could've understood Ritsu reacting with confusion and apprehension in high school if Masamune had suddenly taken to cornering him at every opportunity or professing his love in the admittedly almost embarrassing manner he found himself doing now, but—this was different. He's had _ten years_ to come to terms with the notion that if you loved someone, then you had to take every opportunity you had to tell them so, _show_ them so—lest they be snatched away and you find yourself without the chance.

Masamune couldn't count the number of nights he'd spent idly wondering if, perhaps—Ritsu wouldn't have run away if he'd known how Masamune felt about him. If he'd been as frank and honest with his feelings as Ritsu, would things have happened differently? Had the whole "misunderstanding" in the end still been his fault, even if indirectly?

He kept these dark considerations to himself—for he knew that if he voiced them aloud in earshot of Onodera, he'd hear an answer he likely wouldn't like. He'd spent ten years punishing himself for his actions in high school—there was really no need for Onodera to rub salt in the wound.

And speaking of rubbing…

Masamune grunted softly when he finally let his hand trail over his chest, flicking a nipple idly with a finger while dropping further and drawing goosebumps in the wake. He knew Onodera had a job to do—knew that he would've done the same thing himself if asked to place a client over private activities—but _god_ he hated Mutou-sensei right about now.

It mattered little that they'd both been caught up in the heat of the moment, neither one of them giving more than a passing consideration to the consequences of what they'd been about to do—it mattered little that in the wake of their orgasms, Onodera would've been crushed with disappointment in both himself and Masamune for letting them sleep together. It only mattered that he had been so close he could practically _taste it_ to being able to hold Ritsu again like before, being able to bury himself inside him, curl up snug against him and just spend himself fully trying to join their bodies even more wholly.

It wasn't just the _act_ he found himself missing, it was the closeness, the thrill of lacing their fingers together and locking dark, passion-hooded gazes while thrusting with abandon until they both peaked in perfect synchrony that he'd thought only existed in cheesy BL novels. Everything that came with having the only person you'd ever truly _wanted_ in your life there—and wanting you back.

He didn't like to wonder if he'd ever be able to experience that again—he had more than enough stress in his life already.

He brushed the rough pad of a finger over the crown of his cock and let his mouth fall open a bit, letting out a soft sigh as he teased the slit lightly, recalling how he'd pleasured Onodera in this same manner. The guy had performed admirably, admittedly. He liked to pretend he didn't appreciate the attentions, but Masamune had seen Onodera in far less savory situations before and remembered all too clearly what passion and abandon looked like on those features. So that he'd been able to not only keep himself from crying out while Masamune's hands did their job but also had been able to keep up a fairly coherent conversation with his author was…a feat to be proud of. Perhaps he should make Onodera a certificate of some sort. _In Recognition for Fine Performance Under Duress of a Hand Job_.

Smiling through a grunted moan at his own cleverness, Masamune let his fingers curl into a loose grip around his shaft, quickly working up some spit and laving a tongue over the index and middle fingers of his other hand to continue circling his cockhead.

The water pelting his shoulders was starting to turn lukewarm, and he idly wondered if Onodera wasn't curious as to why he was taking so long. Was he sitting over there, curled up on his couch and still flushing from Masamune's attentions, trying to focus on Mutou the Interruptor's manuscript but instead finding his attention drawn to the dull drone of Masamune's shower echoing through the walls? Was he picturing Masamune just as he was now—strong back bent at the shoulders, legs spread to shoulder-width as one hand tugged insistently at his shaft while the other teased the crown, spreading around the viscous, translucent liquid pooling at the slit before it could be washed away and wasted down the drain?

He started to cant his hips to thrust into the narrowing channel formed by his fingers, bracing his free hand now against the back wall of the shower. He kept his eyes clenched shut and pictured Onodera there, beneath him, just like in high school but now so much taller, broader, sharper in angles and in demeanor, with fewer cries of _Sempai_ and now just a strained, desperate _Takano-san_. If he focused enough, he could hear that long-lost confession, _I love you_ —but the voice was all wrong now, too high and breathy and not _right_ on Onodera's lips for some reason.

He knees threatened to buckle beneath him, and his muscles strained to keep him upright, but he was close—so close, he could feel his orgasm building at the base of his cock, his balls drawing up tight beneath him, twitching when he passed a finger lightly over them on the downstroke of his quickening pace. Onodera was… Onodera was…

 _knock knock knock_ "…Takano-san?"

Even muffled as it was through the wood and plastic doors separating them, the simple lilt of Masamune's name on those lips was enough to push him over the edge, and with a strangled grunt that he barely managed to keep mute, Masamune's climax exploded from him in three long streams before petering out into feeble spurts that dribbled down his cock before he twisted to let the water wash it away. Cock still twitching and delicate to the touch, Masamune straightened up again and took a deep breath to clear his head.

 _knock knock knock_ "Takano-san! Are you all right?"

Eyes shooting open, Masamune only now registered that _fuck_ the voice hadn't been in his head—and Onodera was, for some inexplicable reason, banging down his bathroom door and sounding like he was fighting back some odd mix of nerves, shame, confusion, and worry all at once.

"Just—answer me so I know you're not concussed or something, please!" He could practically _see_ Onodera's face, flushed with worry he didn't want to admit, confused as to how to react—was he supposed to go inside? And what if he found Masamune slumped naked over the side of the tub and bleeding out over the drain? What if Masamune had tried to drown himself in the toilet out of despair that Onodera would never return his love again—did that make him partially responsible for his death then? Did it?!

Masamune couldn't help the small smile that tugged at the corner of his lips—he couldn't even see the guy, but he had no trouble whatsoever in pegging his reactions. It was how he knew just what buttons to push without going too far.

Recovering his faculties, he hastily turned off the spray and cleared his throat. "You're trespassing, Onodera."

There was a beat of silence, during which he suspected Onodera was shifting all his emotions squarely into _fucking annoyed_ territory before sputtering out: "Just—you were in the shower a long time, and I didn't know if maybe you'd slipped and hit your head or something—sorry for being concerned about a neighbor!"

Masamune stepped out onto the plush bath rug, wiggling his toes in the weave as he wrapped a towel around his lower half and tugged the door halfway open to give Onodera a once-over. "Can't a guy jerk off in peace without having the whole building hounding him for using the water he pays good money for?"

Onodera practically leapt backwards when Masamune opened the door, hands up in the air and a flush across his features. He winced visibly when Masamune spelled out what he'd been doing—which was stupid, as surely he'd been _expecting_ that. "I don't—it doesn't matter to me what you were doing. But be a little more considerate. Water is a precious natural resource, and we should—"

"Blah blah blah god you sound like some 'let's be eco-friendly' commercial." He scratched at his ear and rolled his eyes. "Did you finish up with Mutou-sensei?"

"Eh? Ah. Oh, yes." He glanced away, pretending to be interested in Masamune's hallway and not very obviously thinking about Mutou-sensei's manuscript and activities involved in the editing thereof. "She's sending a second draft by Friday…"

"Mmm, good." There was a beat of awkward silence as neither moved, and Masamune braced one hand against the doorway while keeping the other clenched around the ends of the towel at his hip. "…So, what, you came to pay me back already?"

" _Wha—_ "

"Cause I'm all for it—but you'll have to give me a minute to recover. I'm not 18 anymore and—" But Onodera was already stalking back towards the genkan, shoving his feet into his shoes without bothering to untie them. Masamune padded after him, sauntering lazily at his heels. "Thanks for worrying about me."

"I wasn't _worried about you_ ," Onodera grunted, managing to get one shoe on. "I just didn't want to have to fill out some police report about why you were lying dead in your shower with your hand around your—" He paused and glanced up at Masamune, checking himself with a frown. "Good night, Takano-san."

The other shoe wasn't behaving, apparently, and Onodera grunted a few times trying to force his foot in—Masamune took the opening he was given without complaint, dipping down quickly to press another chaste peck to Onodera's cheek. "Good night, Ritsu."

There were times to practice restraint, sure. But Onodera was never going to fall for him again if he behaved himself all the time.


End file.
